


you've got stars in your eyes

by moonflow



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Comfort, Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nightmare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-11 14:57:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19540987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonflow/pseuds/moonflow
Summary: Crowley has an unsavory dream and needs some company from a certain angel to help him wind down.





	you've got stars in your eyes

Heaven was a curious place – well, curious was a very lenient and polite adjective to describe it, in all honesty. It stopped being genuinely curious quite some time after the creation of the universe, for the angels simply had nothing to do when they weren’t off on a job. Otherwise it was sitting about in heaven, making small talk and asking what He was up to and whatnot as they awaited further instructions.

A certain archangel was resting on the edge of a rooftop, staring up at the endless sky above them and wondering when night would fall – if it could at all in heaven. As far as he was concerned, he could sit on that very rooftop until it did.

A quiet _pop_ emitted from his joints as he stretched his arms upwards and extended his wings, releasing a relieved exhale when both sets of limbs moved back to their relaxed positions. Hands resting on his lap, he crossed one leg over the other and looked out on the horizon that never ended, soft and puffy clouds dotting the sky like speckles of paint on the world’s largest canvas. Heaven was quiet, but at the same time it held a peaceful sort of silence, like the kind you experience when walking into a church sanctuary after being caught in the rain, knowing fully well that you’ll be safe and dry for as long as you need to be.

“Beautiful view, isn’t it?”

With raised brows, he turned a bit where he sat so he could face the man who had materialized beside him, hands curtly folded behind his back. Gabriel was a tall fellow with slicked back yet messy black hair, eyes so vibrantly purple they almost seemed to glow at times. His robes seemed neat, which was a feat when it came to robes, really. Unpredictable bits of fabric, they were; he often wondered why they even bothered to cover up at all.

“Ah, yes,” the angel finally replied, turning back to look at the view. “Waiting for night to fall; I want to see my handiwork.”

“ _Our_ handiwork, Raphael,” his companion corrected, the forced smile evident in his tone even without having to look at him. “And you won’t find that here. You’ll have to go down to earth to see the stars, and I doubt either of us want to do that.”

Raphael gave a light shrug, wings shifting as they relaxed against his back. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve heard there’s a lovely garden down there that they’re working on, whatever a garden is. I heard there’s these things called trees.” He enunciated the word a bit too heavily, the latter half of it resembling that of a buzzing fly, or perhaps a snake’s hiss – neither of which had been created yet. “And I overheard Michael telling someone about this thing called a ‘babbling brook.’ Not sure what use it could have if it’s babbling.”

“It’s a figure of speech, I believe,” Gabriel replied. “It means it makes noise on its own, somehow. Not sure about the details, but it’s not under my jurisdiction – nor yours, for the matter.” He stepped forward until the tips of his toes aligned with the edge of the rooftop, though when Raphael glanced up, he saw no apprehension or worry upon the archangel’s face. “I’d rather pass on mucking up my vessel with things like… dirt.”

“S’just dirt,” Raphael offered with another shrug, hands moving to rest behind him. The roof’s surface cool against his palm, auburn hair lightly brushing against his cheeks with the breeze that only seemed to follow him. “Heard it wasn’t so bad.”

Fingers tapping once, then twice upon the roof, he moved to stand, exhaling through his nose once he had risen. With a small roll of his shoulders, he turned to the angel, whom in turn lazily listed his head to meet his companion’s eye. “I think I might go down there for a spell. See it myself and all. I’d extend an invitation, but I doubt you’d accept.”

“You know me too well,” Gabriel replied with another tight-lipped smile - the kind of smile you give a stranger you make eye contact with on the street rather than one you should present to a fellow archangel you just so happened to create the stars with. “Though I think going down there would be more than a tad foolish, don’t you?”

“Ehh, nah,” he replied with a grin, arms leisurely folding across his chest. “It’s just a quick hop downwards to peek, then I’ll come right back up. It’s not like we were ever explicitly told _not_ to go down there or anything.”

Gabriel’s lips pursed a bit, brows raising as he replied, “I’m not sure if that’s the point, Raphael. It’s simply in good faith to not test the waters. Whether or not it will hurt anything doesn’t matter. Us being up here and ready to help is part of his plan. It _is_ in – “

“Ineffable, right; got it,” Raphael interrupted, giving a quiet sniff and glancing back out at the clouds beyond where they stood. “Don’t see why that doesn’t mean we can’t have a little leeway here and there. I mean, isn’t it a bit odd to just follow commands without any rhyme or reason to it? Things are fine now, of course,” the angel quickly added, shifting his weight to the other foot and looking back to the man with a raise of his shoulders, “but you know what I mean. Don’t you?”

“I don’t, no,” he replied rather bluntly, face suddenly taking on a stern expression. “Raphael, you needn’t think things like this. Imagine if the Almighty heard you.”

The archangel’s brows knit at the man’s sudden serious tone, suddenly feeling rather defensive. “Does it really matter? We all have a right to be concerned. You really think following plans without question is healthy? I’m all for the angels, and I’m all for creation, but heavens, Gabriel; can’t we allow ourselves to have personalities?”

“If your idea of a personality is questioning the great plan, I’m afraid I can’t empathize,” he flatly replied. “Maybe you _should_ go to Eden. It would give you some time to clear your head.”

Raphael started when he felt the ground beneath him seem to dissipate, stumbling and unfurling his wings to flap them just before falling down as he sucked in a breath. “There’s really no need for – “

Heaven, despite his companion’s insistence that it couldn’t do such a thing, was growing dark, but there were no stars to replace the clouds. Instead, the previously blue hue of the sky was turning a deep crimson, enrapturing the two in shadow. Gabriel’s eyes were glowing in the darkness of heaven, standing on air as calmly as he was before with a tone to match, grin spreading across his face. “I’m sure they’ll just _love_ you down there.”

It was like weights had suddenly been placed on Raphael’s wings, every flap causing his back to ache with the effort. He blinked, and then he was falling. He was falling through a void of red, falling so fast his wings could not move even if he tried. He was yelling, but he didn’t realize it, nor did he notice the tears flying away from his face before they could even leave his eyes.

Everything felt tight and constricted, and he could not turn around in the air to see where the ground was, if there was any. Wind whipped against his wings and hair, feathers flying hither and yon erratically like his own personal tornado.

And then the pain came. A searing, white hot pain was felt in the tip of his wings down to the bone, throat aching with the strain as a piercing scream of agony escaped the angel, feeling far too loud and raw for his relatively small frame. The flames were spreading downward as his tears continued to fly upward, bones snapping and reforming as the flame methodically moved down the structure of his wings, turning white feathers into a deep ebony.

Helplessly, he cried out one last time, voice giving out and cracking in the process as his eyes clenched shut, certain that he was going to die. Perhaps what was going to happen to him by the time the flames reached him would be far, far worse than dying.

* * *

Crowley awoke with a jolt.

A puddle of drool rested beneath his cheek and an unpleasant stiffness resided in his neck and shoulders. The demon groaned as he pushed himself up from his desk only to fall back into his chair, a crack emitting from his neck. He made a rather loud sound of discomfort, a hand raising to rub it as his eyes finally blinked open.

It was still dark outside, and judging from the lack of lights twinkling in his peripheral vision from cars, it was quite late, at that. With a groan, he nudged his phone on the desk and squinted at the screen when it lit up, reading 3:26 A.M. Just his luck.

Crowley didn’t dream, not really. When he did, he scarcely remembered it upon waking up. The demon didn’t need to sleep, but it was a habit he had picked up a few centuries prior; it helped time go by a bit easier. And besides, lounging about and doing nothing was already his favorite pastime. Admittedly though, after a dream such as that, he wondered if continuing this little hobby was worth it.

The television had been left on, his head gently twitching to the side and silencing it. Raising a hand, he dragged it down his face, eyes lazily opening again afterward as he let out a shaking sigh. Every time he closed his eyes, even for a second, he saw it again – _felt_ it again. His head was beginning to pound hard, each throb feeling like a clap of thunder against his skull. He sat, and counted the throbs, bracing himself for every one of them, as if counting them would make them go away and help him relax. _One. Two. Thr_ –

He abruptly pushed himself up to his feet with an irritated, loud groan, which in retrospect wasn’t the best of ideas, for the demon immediately had to brace himself with both hands upon his desk lest he fall over. The shaking of leaves came from his right down the hallway, and for some reason, the sound angered him. Once he was almost certain he wouldn’t topple over, he grabbed the bottle he’d left on his desk the night previous and shuffled into the next room, the shaking stopping as soon as he crossed the threshold.

Tossing the bottle into a bin in the corner, Crowley raised a hand and rested it against the doorframe, sniffing absently and staring amidst the lush plants resting in each corner.

“What?” he asked, voice raspier than usual due to his sudden awakening at such an ungodly hour. Clearing his throat, he continued in a much clearer tone, “What, you think I’m scary, do you?”

His tone was calm, but there was a nervous energy in the air that was always present in that room; one of danger, of apprehension, of uncertainty. Being the most vibrant and lush houseplants in all of London came with a price, and that price was consistent, unending fear. The tension was so thick it could have pooled into the room, dense and deep and slinking into crevices and cracks not even the landlord was aware of to engulf the entire area in an encompassing web of terror.

“Shut up,” said the man, even though the plants had not – and couldn’t if they tried – responded. Crowley released a yawn, forcing his eyes open before he was finished. When he closed his eyes, he saw a pair of glowing purple ones staring back at him. He just wouldn’t blink anymore. Simple.

He stepped past the lightly trembling foliage and into the kitchen, flipping on a lightswitch and squinting when the brightness hit his widened eyes. A hiss of distaste escaped the demon, forked tongue lingering between his teeth and peeking out his lips for a second afterward before darting back into the safety of his mouth.

Crowley stepped over to the sink with another lighter yawn, fumbling for a glass in a nearby cabinet and flipping the tap on to fill it with water. He didn’t need it, not really, but it felt like one of those things that would help a bit, if nothing else. Turning the faucet off once it was full, he held the glass to his lips and took a small sip, the liquid crisp against his tongue.

This was not helping at all.

Nonetheless, he stepped away with the glass, walking out of the kitchen and all the way back past the plants and into his office. After placing his drink down, he fell back into the desk chair, which felt a bit stiffer than normal and left him wondering why he hadn’t just gone to his bedroom. He hadn’t the foggiest idea of what to do now. He’d be damned if he went back to sleep, but the thought of watching television made his ears tingle with distaste, and music seemed like it would be just as overwhelming. He didn’t really like listening to music in his flat, anyway; it was too distracting.

Despite his back’s unheard pleas for him not to, he found himself leaning forward back onto the desk, head resting in a palm. His eyes flitted down to his phone, lips pursing for a moment at the thought that crossed his mind.

No use overthinking these things. Crowley reached over and picked up the receiver, tucking it up against his ear before dialing the only number he knew by heart, elbows resting on the desk. It rang and rang, and for a moment, he wondered if the man had actually gone to sleep for once. Really, it would be just his luck –

The other end of the line clicked. “I do say, I think it’s safe to say that we’re closed – “

“Hey.”

There was a beat of silence between the two, Crowley’s tongue moving about in his mouth and picking at what he could only hope was lettuce from that evening’s supper and not two suppers prior between his teeth. Growing rather irritated, he miracled it away just as the man replied simply, “Crowley?”

“No,” the demon drolled, tugging the machine a bit closer to his side of the desk so he could bring the cord with him as he slumped back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other, “it’s the queen. Yes, it’s me.”

“I thought you were asleep at this hour,” his friend admitted. “Have a night out on the town, did you?”

The back of his head knocked against the chair, replying flatly, “No. Listen, angel,” With a sigh, he dragged his free hand down his face for the second time that night, stopping halfway down his nose and leaving his voice a bit muffled. “I just need to come over. It’s too boring over here.”

“Well, it’s not exactly a party here at the shop,” joked the man. “I’ve just been reorganizing the back room; you really wouldn’t believe what a mess it is in there – “

“I would. Listen. Just…” Dropping his hand into his lap, he inhaled through his nose a bit sharply and continued, “Just keep the door unlocked for a bit and I’ll be over soon. Alright? That fine with you?”

“O-of course,” he replied quickly. “I’ll tidy it up a bit, put on something to drink. Ah, Crowley?”

He had just risen to say his goodbyes and hang up, stalling in the middle of his motion to stand and sitting back down in the chair with a sigh as a result. “Yes, angel?”

“Are you alright?”

Crowley’s teeth gritted, molars grinding against each other subtly in the back of his mouth as he suppressed another sigh, ignoring the prickling feeling in the back of his eyes. Damn that angel. “Yeah,” he replied, clearing his throat. “Yeah, I’m fine. Be there in a jiff.”

With that, he hung up, staring down at the phone for a good long moment before releasing a breath and standing, hands shoved in his pockets. He walked out of his office, and while the plants trembled, expecting scolding, Crowley might as well have forgotten they existed as he headed to the front door and silently walked out of it.

* * *

Aziraphale was not exactly equipped to entertain guests, let alone at such a late hour, but Crowley wasn’t exactly a run-of-the-mill guest to begin with. As tidy as he tried to keep the place, it was still a bit claustrophobic, and that evening was no exception, considering he had spent the past several hours rearranging each book and album alphabetically by author. And he was only a quarter of the way done.

His mind was in several places at once. One route led him down a mental pathway littered with albums and musical artists, trying to figure out which record would be best for company so late at night. He also had to take Crowley’s mood into account, which was a bit indiscernible over the phone due to the short conversation that had taken place. It left him with no less than ten records to consider, and as he raised one up from a table labeled with the band name The Monkees – an impulse purchase he had bought at a shop when asking specifically for rock and roll with Crowley in mind - an eleventh was added to the list.

The second mental roadway stopped at a dead end of sorts, hence why the angel was preferring to focus on the first one. His friend never called him at such an hour, and the fact that he had explicitly said that he _needed_ to come over worried him. Perhaps he was just lonely? As much as the demon played it off, Aziraphale had always suspected his company was enjoyed more than he would ever let on with words. It made their little visits all the more memorable for himself, and he could only hope the feeling was mutual with Crowley.

He had tucked a rather thick book into the uppermost shelf nearest to him with the tip of his index finger, only now just starting to wonder if he had bitten off more than he could chew, when he heard it. Not the doorbell, no; that came afterward, though often didn’t at all. It was the blaring of car speakers outside the front windows, the loud rumble of electric guitar mingling with the sound of brakes squeaking. Knowing Crowley, he had previous been going no less than fifty miles over speed before parking, and well, even the most tailored of fine cars was prone to being a bit cross when the brakes were slammed on so abruptly. Somehow, the neighbors never complained about the sound.

Aziraphale rushed into the frontmost area of the store, raising a finger to unlock the front door before smoothing down his front and waiting for his friend to enter. Under normal circumstances, he would immediately have gone to fix them two cups of tea, but he wanted to switch things up a bit. Maybe he was a little worried, as if when Crowley walked in, he would be sluggish and disheveled, needing a metaphorical knight in shining armor to sweep him off his feet. Were that the case, it was a pity it wasn’t the twelfth century – wouldn’t be so metaphorical then.

However, when the door opened and the bell above it softly jingled, his friend’s stride was casual, ensemble as familiar as it ever was. The angel smiled and stepped forward, “I’m so sorry it’s a bit messy in here, but I did try to clean out the back room…”

His words trailed off when Crowley nudged his glasses off with a finger, folding them with one hand and tucking them into the collar of his shirt. There were bags under his eyes, which Aziraphale only noticed after studying the tired look to his slit pupils. It wasn’t a physical sort of tired, but rather a deeper kind – one that couldn’t be described in words even if either of them tried. “I just need some company, angel; that’s all,” sniffed the demon, hands tucking into his trouser pockets. “Something smells nice. What is that?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale smiled, hands clasping in front of his chest before turning to walk to the kitchen, Crowley following on instinct. “I just bought these lovely little eclairs from a shop a few blocks down; I thought they would go well with some tea.”

Indeed, upon the kitchen counter sat a tray with delicately arranged miniature eclairs, the angel continuing as he stepped over to the stove where a teapot awaited to be filled, “Nice shop, really; the owner was so nice. Insisted I buy two boxes; they’re a touch expensive, but I’ve been saving them the past day or two to have on a special occasion.”

Crowley slunk over to the counter, eyes flitting between the tray and Aziraphale’s back as the latter fixed tea, giving the air a sniff, “Think they’re frozen.”

“What?” Aziraphale replied incredulously, turning to look at him with an expression of utter confusion. With a mildly indignant huff, he placed the pot on the stove and turned the flame on, adding, “Oh, that’s ridiculous. As if I couldn’t recognize fresh from frozen.”

“Hm, no,” his friend replied, picking one up and observing it, particularly its rather stiff-looking chocolate drizzle.

The angel trotted over and gently tapped his fingers upon Crowley’s hand as if scolding a dog who had just nibbled on the couch. “Those go with the tea, Crowley! Do put that back down. And they’re not frozen.”

For the first time all night, a toothy grin crossed the demon’s lips, giving a quiet chuckle as his hand lowered back down to release the dubious pastry. Aziraphale nodded once before moving back over to the stove, getting sugar from a nearby cabinet as Crowley leaned back against the counter with a quiet exhale.

As the tea perked, they stood in silence, which was just as much of a normality as it was for them to playfully bicker. Truth be told, the two could sit in complete silence for hours and be just as comfortable. It was an added comfort to their relationship for the both of them, really.

The kettle began to whistle, Crowley listing his head a bit over at the stove as his companion poured the liquid into two cups, fixing both accordingly before turning and bringing them both to the tray. He then quickly left to get the kettle and place it down as well, alongside a little bowl of sugar cubes. He lifted it in both hands, smiling warmly up at his companion, and asked, “Shall we?”

Crowley didn’t realize he had been staring, breaking out of the daze and giving a distant, “Yeah,” before stepping aside and letting Aziraphale take the lead. Much like before, he followed with his hands in his pockets, past the entryway and towards the back room, boots softly clacking against the hardwood floor.

Aziraphale’s bookshop was not so much a shop as it was a collector’s den of sorts, for Crowley was almost certain he had never actually sold a book in his life. Others might call it hoarding, but it moreso felt like a labor of love spanned across many, many millennia. The demon often wondered how Aziraphale was able to hold onto so many books for so long throughout numerous time periods.

When the angel stopped before the back door, he seemed perplexed due to both hands being full. Crowley reached around him and turned the knob, the two catching each other’s eye and halting only momentarily before the demon straightened his posture again, hands tucking back into his pockets. Aziraphale gave a small thank you and walked inside, placing the tray down upon a coffee table next to a burgundy couch.

The back room smelled of paper and a bit of dust, though it was offset by the scent of vanilla and honey. It was punctured by the added smell of Aziraphale’s cologne, which Crowley always found to be the most prominent of all.

“So then,” Aziraphale spoke up, picking up a cup and passing it to the demon, whom took it in his hand with a subtle nod of thanks, “might I ask what brings you by at such a late hour? It’s nearly four in the morning.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” his friend replied, moving over to the aforementioned couch and unceremoniously falling back into it, though careful not to spill his tea. A leg raised up and fell over the opposite one, teacup resting upon the former’s knee. “Couldn’t sleep. Stupid things, nightmares. Figured we shouldn’t be able to have them, with what we are and all. We don’t even need to sleep, so why are we equipped to dream, eh? Doesn’t make any bloody sense.”

Aziraphale was in the process of dressing his own cup of tea, stirring it with a small, silver spoon before tapping it off against the side. “Well, would you like to talk about it? Keeping it all bottled up will just make you linger on it more.” Stepping over to where Crowley sat, he took a seat across from him and held his cup in both hands. “I would never pressure you, of course.”

Hand initially raising to pick his cup up, Crowley quickly shifted it to scratch the back of his head as the demon released a sigh, “Yeah, and that’s why I’d be comfortable telling you in the first place. It was nothing; just me falling. Felt like it was real for a second; didn’t wake up too well.” His hand lowered back onto his lap, observing the rippling brown liquid in its pristine white, china prison. “Didn’t wanna go back to sleep, didn’t want to be in the flat alone. So, I’m here having tea with you.”

“Oh, Crowley…” The angel’s face contorted to an expression of concern, carefully reaching over and giving his leg an affectionate little pat. Crowley wondered briefly why he didn’t want him to remove it, but alas, it was already retracting. “I’m dreadfully sorry to hear that; I can’t even imagine. Well,” he said rather matter-of-factly, giving a small nod and determined flare of his nostrils, “I’ll do whatever I can to help get your mind off of things. Shall I put on some music?”

Forever grateful that the angel didn’t prod for details, Crowley lazily raised a hand and waved it as if swatting away a fly as he replied, “Nah, don’t worry about it… Just want to hear your voice. Too damn quiet at my place. Plants can’t talk, nobody to call except you… and I’m not exactly the biggest fan of socializing these days. Can’t we just, ah… talk? About anything?”

His brows were raised expectantly, studying Aziraphale’s features, then his eyes, gold meeting blue. It felt like the eye contact was held for no less than an hour, when in reality only a few seconds had passed before the demon’s gaze dipped down to his tea, finally raising it to take a sip as he waited. Aziraphale cleared his throat and at last he replied, “Yes, of course… Ah! Well…”

And so Crowley sat and listened as Aziraphale prattled on about a new book order he had gotten in just that morning from an anonymous seller, detailing how one of them was labeled as a first edition of some old author when in fact it was not a first edition at all, and was more like a one hundredth one. He was always so animated when he talked, face lighting up and shifting he recounted the emotional rollercoaster of contacting the seller only to be met with death threats, to which he informed them that he could not risk losing a body he had been keeping in top notch shape since the beginning of creation. They had hung up, he said.

His tea was finished, the demon rising to pour himself another cup as Aziraphale continued to talk. Popping one of the sweets that rested upon the tray into his mouth, the hot liquid trickled down into its newfound, but temporary home. Yep. Definitely frozen.

“You know,” Crowley finally spoke up once the angel had finally ceased talking to take the first sip of his own tea, stirring sugar into the cup, “That all sort of reminds me of that whole ordeal in ah… oh, it was here in England, I think. With the church and those books? ‘Cept those books were for real; you were too upset when the building was blown to smithereens for ‘em not to be.”

“Oh, yes; how could I forget?” replied Aziraphale, looking back down at his cup. “… You know, I think about that night quite a lot. I would have become discorporated had you not shown up. I’d sort of assumed you would stop showing up after that, what with our… less than pleasant engagement beforehand.”

“Sorry about that,” the demon replied with a scratch of his cheek, placing the cup back down on the table to lean his hand down upon it. “I was asleep.”

The only sound in the room was that of Crowley’s final two scratches upon the skin of his cheek until Aziraphale turned his head to look at him in disbelief, “… Asleep?”

“Yeah,” Crowley confirmed. “Did I not tell you at the time? Just sort of slept for a few decades after that. Woke up and there was a world war going on, and you were getting yourself into trouble. Figured it was time to stay awake after that.”

“… Oh,” replied the man, looking back down at his tea. “Crowley, if that was because of – “

“Ah, don’t worry about it; an old tiff didn’t stop us, did it? Wouldn’t be here now if it did,” Crowley interrupted with a casual smile – one that, once Aziraphale saw it, helped him relax a bit. He pushed away from the table and stepped over towards the angel’s chair, peering up at a bookshelf just behind him. “This book here’s sticking out.”

“Well, I _did_ say I was tidying up,” Aziraphale replied, shifting a bit in his chair to look up at the demon as he plucked it from the shelf and peered at the cover. “Hm. If you’re organizing by names, this is in the wrong spot. Might as well take it out now. By Oscar Wilde, it is.”

Aziraphale didn’t reply at first, Crowley turning to look down at the angel, whom had looked down at his lap. After a few seconds of silence, he asked, “You, uh… did you know him?”

“In a way,” the angel replied somewhat bashfully, quietly clearing his throat. “He and I were close friends; that book’s first edition, I’ll have you know. Gave it to me personally.”

Crowley’s lips pursed a bit, tucking the book back onto where it had been initially resting, and a grin grew on his face as he promptly sat down on the arm of Aziraphale’s chair, startling the angel so badly he nearly spilt his tea. “Close friends, were you?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale stammered, leaning forward to place his tea down and forcing himself to not look at Crowley’s craned head and raised brows. “Very close. We met sometime in the late 1800s.”

“Good man, was he?”

“Well, I suppose he was. We didn’t visit all that often.”

“But you have a first edition of his book. Of many of his books, I’d wager.”

“He was a very gracious man.”

Crowley leaned to the side to see him a bit better, an almost playful smile on his lips, “Oh, yes. I can tell– “

“Oh, it doesn’t matter anymore!” Aziraphale suddenly interrupted, looking up to the demon with knit brows. “Yes, we had a bit of a fling, but it doesn’t matter right now. My affairs are awaiting to be set with someone else.”

“Someone else, eh?” the demon replied, head tilting. It was a wonder he wasn’t toppling over, his hands on the armrest the only thing keeping him up. “You talk like it’s set in stone.”

“Not necessarily,” replied Aziraphale, huffing softly under his breath and reaching up to straighten his bowtie and leaving it at that. “Just… someone I’ve known for a while. You know how it is, I’m sure, with all those demons you’re acquainted with.”

“Hmm, yes. But I can’t say I’ve ever been so deadset on a demon. Horrible buggers, demons. Too loud and nasty for their own good, always smelling like a sewer… there’s a reason I only go to hell for business anymore.”

“A human, then?” he asked almost carefully, not making eye contact with the demon. The tone of his voice felt almost worrisome, as if he were silently praying his assumption was not true as his hands rested in his lap, still and patient.

Crowley suddenly felt two surges: one of anxiety, and the other of boldness, cockiness – what he did best and what he knew made Aziraphale smile even in the tensest of times. “Nah,” he finally replied, turning a bit more to look at the man. “You know, Azirphale, I – “

A sudden yelp escaped the demon as he tumbled backwards, Aziraphale’s hands unclasping and reaching to try and catch the man haphazardly as he fell onto the angel’s legs, head cushioned by the opposite side’s armrest. “Crowley, are you alright?”

“Ah, never better,” the demon replied after a heartbeat of silence, though made no move to get up. His attention focused on Aziraphale, giving him a joking grin and a wave of his bony fingers. “You know, out of every mishap we’ve been in together throughout the years, this might just be one of the oddest. And no, I’m not forgetting about that one particular wagon ride in America in ah… I don’t know, early 1800s? Something about a trial.”

“1837, yes,” Aziraphale breathed, as if spouting out facts was all he could do for the time being. His hands steadily lowered down to rest over Crowley’s waist and under his head, for they had nowhere else to go, really. That, and he didn’t want the man falling a second time. “And it was the Oregon _Trail,_ Crowley; not trial.”

“Right, right,” he replied, a hand resting over his chest as he pursed his lips in thought, as if this were the most natural position in the world to converse in. “Everyone else in the wagon had died for some reason or another by then, save for the driver. Still think he didn’t even notice; poor bastard was too scared of dying himself. You’d decided to sleep to pass some time; woke up with your head on my shoulder.”

“Right,” the angel replied. His words felt like an automated machine spouting out information and responses that held no weight. All of the weight had gone straight to Aziraphale’s chest.

Crowley blew a soft raspberry with his lips in thought, blinking up at the ceiling above them. “You’d had a nightmare yourself. It scared you; you woke up in such an awful fit. Had to hold you to calm you down. Told me you felt safe with me, like the nightmares couldn’t get to you if you just stayed there.” Part of him wondered why he was talking, but at the same time, it felt so natural; just as natural as the hand carefully resting beneath his head that Crowley found himself wishing would card through his hair.

“Guess that’s sort of how it feels for me right now,” he continued, turning his head to look at the man, whom had been staring down at his own lap to subdue any sign of incriminating emotion on his face. “Feels safe laying here with you, angel. Forgot I’d even had a nightmare for a minute there.”

Aziraphale hesitated, brows suddenly upturning as his lips pursed a bit, finally raising his gaze to meet Crowley’s, and for heaven’s sakes, it was too much. His brows were slightly raised, slit eyes studying the angel’s face, body relaxed. All the demon had to do was look at him and he felt… felt….

“I’m glad I was able to help a bit,” he finally replied, voice quieter than expected. Aziraphale felt a bit lightheaded, and typically he would fix something to help with that, but it was out of the question with a demon draped across his lap.

Silence fell between the two, both unsure of what to do or what to say. Finally, Crowley spoke up in a voice gentler than Aziraphale expected, “Angel.”

Something beat hard in the angel’s chest, taking in a swift, quiet breath when something touched his cheek with a delicacy no one had ever touched him with before. Crowley’s thin fingers rested there cautiously, as if Aziraphale were made of the most brittle glass and that he would shatter if he moved.

Crowley was talking, and it took his friend a moment to register the words. “You’ve got stars in your eyes, you know that?” His head tilted, pushing himself up a bit with his elbow to see them more clearly. “Like a whole galaxy in there.”

Aziraphale could feel the heat in his cheeks, praying that it wasn’t visible. His brows were twitching into an upturned position, lips in a small line and dipping his gaze downward. If he stared any longer at Crowley’s intense gaze, he’d forget how to speak, surely. With every shift of his fingers, however, he forgot a little bit more of the English language. And every language, really. Hard to remember something like that when your thoughts were flying about more erratically than a flock of hummingbirds.

“Did you know,” the demon continued, Aziraphale’s breath catching a bit as Crowley’s fingers curled beneath his chin and gently lifted it back up to meet his intent, almost studious gaze, “that stars aren’t actually white or red or anything like that? They’re actually blue up close. The humans all say it’s because of frequencies and, ah… oh, what’s it called. Dog effect? Double effect?”

“Doppler,” croaked Aziraphale.

“Right, thanks,” he replied. “Anyway, all that doesn’t matter. There’s only one reason it’s like that, and it’s not because of what science says it is. It’s because they reminded whoever made those stars of something very important to them.”

Aziraphale took in a silent breath when one of the demon’s fingers shifted – his thumb, it felt like. It was mere millimeters from the angel’s bottom lip, and he were quite certain if it so much as brushed against it, he would fall faint. Swallowing so hard he felt his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, he met his friend’s gaze and rasped, “Crowley…”

“And you know,” the man continued as if he hadn’t spoken at all, “Even the most brightest and beautiful of stars he created couldn’t hold a candle to what he’s looking at right now.”

Their movements were harmonious without either truly realizing it. Aziraphale’s hand had shifted from the back of Crowley’s head onto the uppermost part of his back as he shifted, other arm still around his waist almost protectively. Their gaze had shifted from each other’s eyes onto features a bit further down as both shifted forward on instinct to close the space between them, Aziraphale inhaling softly when he felt their noses brush against one another’s.

“Crowley,” he repeated almost desperately, lips quavering for a multitude of reasons not even he could put his finger on, “I…”

The demon had stalled, hand holding his companion’s chin tenderly as he released a quiet breath of his own. Not a word was said, but his caution was obvious, as if making sure that this was alright. For a few long seconds, they sat there like that, Aziraphale’s hands on the demon to keep him up and ensure that he would not fall from him a second time.

“Am I still going a bit too fast?” Crowley finally asked, voice soft and subdued. Aziraphale managed to cease the tremble that threatened to crawl up his spine when he felt the demon’s breath against his lips with the question, listening intently for him to continue, but the demon never did.

“No,” Aziraphale finally replied in a similar tone, taking in a shaking breath. The hand on Crowley’s back found itself gently taking hold of his shirt, as if to further convey his point.

The space was closed. The stars twinkled a little brighter.

It was not as if Aziraphale had never kissed someone before, but kissing Crowley had always been something he had figured would be something new and invigorating, and it seems all those daydreams did not let him down. He had expected a quick peck and pull away, but this was something both of them wanted to savor. This was six thousand and some odd years in the making, and neither would take it for granted.

The kiss was soft, gentle, and cautious at first. They were testing the waters, but it didn’t take long to do so. Crowley’s hand had found Aziraphale’s cheek again, holding it tenderly as their lips brushed against each other, feeling more intimate than either could have ever imagined.

It was an act that they could have easily continued until the sun came up, and when Crowley broke the kiss, Aziraphale felt his lips quiver and involuntarily pout, eyes finding the demon’s as his brows upturned. The chuckle that rumbled in the back of Crowley’s throat made his heart soar, and, unable to say no to his angel’s puppy dog eyes, he kissed him again.

Eventually, however, it came to pass. Neither knew how much time had gone by since they started, and that time, Aziraphale was the one to break it, as much as he didn’t want to, but it was a bit hard to talk when your lips were occupied with someone else’s. He took in a breath he did not need, nose brushing briefly against Crowley’s own before the demon pulled away enough to look at his love with a smile so warm it could melt ice.

“You alright?” Crowley asked before Aziraphale could, thumb brushing over the surface of his cheek. To say that he was alright would be an understatement – almost insultingly so. Describing how Aziraphale felt in words would be an impossible task, and any attempts to try would result in a lot of awkward rambling that, while Crowley would be happy to listen to him as long as need be, would not get either of them anywhere.

“Yes,” he decided to reply with a small nod and a smile of his own, allowing himself a short, mirthful laugh. “Yes, C-Crowley, I’m fine… beyond fine, actually… feels like the wind was knocked out of me, really…”

“You’re lucky; feels like I had more than the wind blown out of me,” Crowley chuckled. “Still not convinced I didn’t just up and blow right out of my vessel, and that this is just some very vivid daydream.” With a gentle caress of his cheek that Aziraphale found himself tilting his head into, he continued, “A kiss like that, though… don’t think something that real could be something I dreamed up.”

Aziraphale’s hand moved from the small of Crowley’s back up to rest over the hand upon his face, gently pulling it away to hold it and intertwine their fingers together. The thought of saying the words on the tip of his tongue made tears threaten to bud in the man’s eyes, but he found himself speaking regardless, “Crowley, I… oh, heavens above, I love you so much…”

“And I, angel,” his love replied, bringing their hands up and pressing a kiss to the top of Aziraphale’s, causing his breath to catch in his throat, “adore you more than anything. And yes, that does include the Bentley and all of the tapes in it.”

A laugh escaped Aziraphale, beaming down at the demon as his eyes grew wet with tears, giving Crowley’s hand a loving squeeze, “Well then, I do say that’s the highest honor anyone could hold…”


End file.
